


azure flower

by adamantine



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Azure Moon Dimilix, Bittersweet Ending, Bottom Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Heavy Angst, M/M, Selfcest, Suicidal actions, Threesome - M/M/M, and also, crimson flower felix, it pains me to tag this but, see notes for clarification on some tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26958952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adamantine/pseuds/adamantine
Summary: After the war, Felix renounces his title and wanders Fódlan as a mercenary. It gets him killed. When he wakes up from death, he finds himself in an unfamiliar world where Dimitri is king and a different Felix is at his side.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 44
Kudos: 152





	azure flower

**Author's Note:**

> tag clarification (mild spoilers)  
> \- major character death: CF!felix  
> \- suicidal actions: CF!felix acts without caring for his life  
> \- bittersweet ending: applies to CF!felix, AM!dimilix are fine/unharmed  
> \- selfcest: felix doesn't fuck himself, but he isn't a passive bystander either

The boar takes Felix by surprise. It charges at him from behind the thicket and impales him with its sharp, overgrown tusks. The pain is sudden and overwhelming; he unsheathes his sword in a haze. Again and again, the boar drives its tusks into him. Relentless and unforgiving. It won’t stop until one of them is dead.

Felix raises his sword and lobs off the boar’s head.

Streaks of blood stain the snow. The boar’s blood, and Felix’s.

He presses a hand to his torso and feels sick when his gloves come away soaked in red. He glances at his wounds and corrects himself—he feels sick because his guts are escaping his body. He pushes them back in and screams.

He unscrews his last vulnerary with shaking hands and drains the entire bottle. The pain clouding his mind recedes but the gashes in his torso remain. He bleeds and bleeds and bleeds.

The nearest settlement is leagues away. They might have a healer. They might not. It doesn’t matter. He’ll never make it in time. If he can at least drag himself to the main road, a passerby might find his body and report it. There are people that deserve to know he’s died.

Once, he told Leonie to send his sword to Sylvain if he died first. She thought he was joking. She punched him in the shoulder and laughed, telling him to stop being so morbid.

Felix stumbles through the snow, struggling to hold his insides in, until his knees give away. Then he crawls. He keeps going, leaving behind a trail of blood and guts, until that too becomes impossible.

He can see the road from where he’s fallen; his corpse will be close enough that the stench of him will catch a traveler’s attention when spring comes. It’s the most he can hope for.

Felix’s death is slow and agonizing. The vulnerary wears off and the pain returns worse than before. Blood fills his mouth; he turns his head to the side and spits it out.

The sky turns orange as the sun fades. He watches it knowing it will be the last time he does. His vision turns spotty; when the moon comes out it looks red.

He’s cold in a way that makes him feel tired. He can’t keep his eyes open any longer. He closes them and lets death take him.

_____

The professor asks Felix to join the Black Eagles during the Red Wolf Moon, to better his swordsmanship. He accepts the offer. Predictably, Sylvain transferred earlier in the year instead of sticking around to be taught by Professor Hanneman; it’s probably why in the end Felix says yes.

They aren’t the only transfers in the class. The professor is popular; students flock to them, often treating them more like a beloved peer than a teacher. After they’re blessed by the goddess, their popularity grows tenfold. The sparring sessions Felix looks forward to each week cease as the rest of the monastery steals the professor’s attention.

Felix’s last months at the officer’s academy are a blur. Edelgard reveals herself as the Flame Emperor. The professor—blessed by the goddess—protects Edelgard from the Immaculate One’s wrath and Felix, like the rest of the Black Eagles, is faced with a choice: join Edelgard’s revolution or fight alongside the church.

War is a chance to sharpen his blade, no matter what side he’s on. But joining Edelgard is his chance to cut ties with his past. He can escape Glenn’s shadow. Free himself from his father’s expectations and the role he’s meant to inherit.

Edelgard spins tales about revolution but all Felix cares about is what her war can do for _him_.

During the battle at Garreg Mach, the professor disappears. Dead, Felix presumes but never says in Edelgard’s company. War engulfs the continent. His father sends him letter after letter begging him to come home; he burns each one.

Ingrid tries to reason with him (as well as Sylvain) during the first months of the war. _Stop being foolish_ , she writes. _Your people need you_. Her appeals make him hesitate; he wonders if he’s doing the right thing. Then he kills her oldest brother in battle and his lingering regret hardens. He’s made the right choice—because if he didn’t, it’s all been for nothing.

His father and Ingrid aren’t the only ones that write to him. The boar sends him a single unsigned letter. The messenger that brings it to him knows nothing of its origins, but he can recognize the boar’s handwriting from the simple Felix written on the envelope.

Felix doesn’t open it. Not during the war, and not after. He keeps it in his pocket, taking it out from time to time to stare at. But never to open it. Never to read it.

The paper ages and thins; the ink fades. He pulls it out to throw away. His hands grasp it intending to rip it. He holds it over a candle to burn it. If he isn’t going to read it he might as well destroy it.

In the end, he always tucks it back into his pocket.

_____

“Hey mister, wake up.”

Something prods at Felix’s side. He rolls away from it and hits a solid barrier blocking him from going any further.

“Mister, you need to get up.”

Whatever is prodding at him does it again, viciously.

“Séverin, stop kicking the poor man,” a woman’s voice chastises.

Felix groans, his entire body aching, and opens his eyes.

Stacks of farm produce surround him—rows of tightly packaged eggs, vegetables, and grains—and at his feet is a young boy scowling down at him.

Felix blinks.

“Mister, get out of our cart,” the boy says, his hands on his hips.

Felix sits up and finds he is indeed in a cart—a peasant farmer’s cart by the looks of it. A woman in plain, threadbare clothes stands behind it, her hair hidden beneath a blue headscarf; the only thing she’s wearing that isn’t some shade of brown.

“Where—how?” Felix asks.

“We found you by the side of the road, sir,” the woman says. “Wasn’t sure if you were dead or alive. But when Séverin poked you with a stick you mumbled a bit, so we figured you were alive after all. Since you didn’t look so good, we were going to take you to a healer. But it looks like you’re fine now, sir.”

Felix feels for his wounds and finds his skin is neatly healed. He wonders for a moment if the boar attack was simply a dream, but when he looks down he sees all the dried blood on his tattered clothes. Not a dream then. The vulnerary must have worked after all.

“Let me repay you,” Felix says. “I’d have frozen to death if you didn’t pick me up.”

“We already took your coin, mister,” the boy says matter of factly.

“Séverin!” the woman scolds. “Give the man his money back! We’re not thieves. I apologize for my younger brother. Our folks died in the war, you see. He’s just got me left, and I’m not the best at making him behave.”

“It’s fine,” Felix says, his throat tight.

The boy reluctantly hands over Felix’s coin purse. Felix takes it and pulls out a gold coin for the boy to have. “Keep it.”

The boy snatches it out of his hand.

“You don't have to—” the woman begins, but Felix cuts her off.

“I’d give you all of it if I didn’t need it myself. I’d be dead without your intervention. Where are we?”

“Boyne, sir. We usually stop here on our way to Fhirdiad’s markets.”

“Oh.” Boyne is a small town—a village really—bordering Fhirdiad. He’s further up north than he thought. He rarely steps foot in Faerghus territory; he hasn’t been to Fhirdiad since the Immaculate One burned it down. He knew it was being rebuilt but—

“I’ll leave you to it then.” As much as he doesn’t want to, he’ll have to stop in Fhirdiad for provisions and hopefully find some work while he’s at it. “Where’s my—”

“My apologies sir, but we removed your weapons. Can’t be too careful. Everything’s at the front of the cart.”

“Of course,” he says, not letting her know about the dagger in his boot, the throwing knives strapped to his thighs, or the pendant around his neck with a hidden blade inside. He isn’t an easy man to disarm.

He says his goodbyes to his rescuers and reluctantly follows the road into the city of his childhood.

_____

Fhirdiad looks just as he remembers it. The homes and businesses that burned to the ground are standing once more. The city, impossibly, is thriving. He feels unmoored by it. It’s barely approaching the sixth anniversary since the war ended—how did they rebuild it so fast? Has Edelgard been prioritizing the former capital over Arianrhod?

Felix pays little attention to politics but even he can see how foolish it is to focus on Fhirdiad over Arianrhod when the bulk of the Empire’s supporters in the former kingdom are concentrated in the west. To reward those who stood against the Empire the longest seems out of character for her. Perhaps it’s the professor’s idea. Some attempt to show how the Empire doesn’t care about the past, that they’re all one land now.

Felix scoffs. His once endless admiration for the professor dried up long ago. He doesn’t deny that the world they’ve created is free from the shackles of Crests and the trappings of nobility, but those things aren’t the source of his frustrations. He isn’t Sylvain, angry at his father’s obsession with Crests, or Leonie, struggling under the financial burdens caused by her station of birth. For all the professor and Edelgard have done, the worship of knighthood and chivalry continues to thrive in Faerghus territory. Maybe in the decades to come as the old nobility is replaced fully, things will truly change. Until then, all the professor and Edelgard have achieved with their new world order, is a place where Felix doesn’t belong. The son of a Duke with a major Crest—what is the point of him?

A group of children run past him, giggling. A girl with golden hair and a boy with hair the color of midnight lead the charge, pushing through the crowded streets without care for who they disrupt. They look like peasant children, but they’re all carefully bundled up for the weather in matching blue cloaks. He thinks he sees an emblem on them but the children move so fast he can’t quite make it out. He shakes his head and turns to leave when he sees something that shocks him to the core: a Duscur boy and girl are among the gaggle of children, smiling brightly.

As far as he knows, there have been no attempts of reconciliation between the people of Duscur and Fódlan. It isn’t that Edelgard lacks the interest in it—she would gladly spread her views to all—but the result of the people Duscur refusing to come out of hiding from their pockets of safety. They’ve fully isolated themselves since the war’s end.

He follows after the children, his curiosity getting the better of him. The matching cloaks, are they uniforms? For a school? An orphanage? Where did the Duscur children come from? Why are they here, in Fhirdiad of all places?

The children lead him into the heart of the city. Keeping track of them is a challenge in the bustling city. They run with confidence, uncaring of how many adults they bump into. He hardly has the same luxury, receiving glares and curses when he tries to do the same. The adults don’t seem to mind the children, but Felix is another story. He ends up losing the children when a fruit seller blocks his path in anger.

Felix sighs and waits until the man finishes his ranting to slip away. Chasing the children, he didn’t pay attention to where he was going and is surprised to find himself not far from the castle. He knows this part of the city well: there’s the cathedral he attended with his family, the bakery his mother was fond of, the seamstress his father dragged him to once a year, the flower shop Glenn was banned from, the School of Sorcery where—

Felix abruptly halts. _The what?_ Impossible. The School of Sorcery was completely destroyed during the final battle of the war. He remembers it well because Annette—

“Felix? What have you done to your hair?”

That voice—he _remembers_ that voice. He remembers the silly ditties she used to sing at the academy; her anguished cries when he cut down her father.

Felix unsheathes his sword and points it at the Agarthan wearing Annette’s face.

“Woah! Felix?”

“I don’t know who you think you’re fooling, but I know what you are. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t cut off your head.”

“What are you talking about? Are you—is this some kind of breakdown?”

“You made a mistake wearing the face of someone I saw die in front of me.” He remembers with startling, sickening clarity the flash of lightning Constance sent right through Annette’s heart. How Annette was standing there, her face streaked with tears as she summoned up a magical array, getting ready to strike him down, when Constance intervened and put a hole in her chest. Annette’s eyes went glassy before she fell to the ground. There wasn’t any blood; the spell cauterized the wound.

“Died? Felix, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I’m going to get you some help, all right? Goodness, where are your guards? His Majesty is probably beside himself with worry.”

_His Majesty?_

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, but this is my final warning. Turn yourself in and I'll take you to the Emperor alive. Refuse and I’ll send your head instead.”

“Emperor? Felix, you’re not making any sense.” Annette takes a step back and holds her hands out in front of her. An unfamiliar magical array hovers in the air between them; it doesn’t look Agarthan but he’s hardly an expert in their magic. “I’m sorry, but this is going to sting a little.”

Felix raises his sword with the intent to kill. If the Agarthan wants to play out this farce until the end, so be it. Edelgard will still pay him for its head.

He swings his sword and hits nothing but air. The creature in Annette’s skin is too fast. He underestimates it. A blinding white light hits him in the face and sends him flying.

“Sorry!” the Annette creature says as pain shoots through his body.

He tries to fight through the pain, but it’s useless. The last thing he sees before blacking out is Annette’s teary face hovering over him.

_____

Felix’s uncle survives the war. For his part in opposing the Empire, he’s stripped of his land and titles but he’s allowed to live and is given part of his fortune in return for his cooperation. It’s a fairly merciful punishment—after all, Edelgard plans to remove the titles of even her allies in due time. The old nobility is coming to end.

Felix inherits the Fraldarius duchy by default, a reward for his service in the Black Eagle Strike Force. One of the many Edelgard heaps upon him. Gold, medals, land, a place in her court: she offers them all to Felix for laying the Tempest King at her feet. He won them that battle, and everyone knows it.

His uncle contacts him and lets him know he plans on sailing for Dagda. Many of the ruling class are leaving Fódlan rather than learn to live in this new world. Felix thinks it’s cowardly.

His uncle’s letter lists how to get in contact with him before his ship leaves. Felix packs his bags, not to say goodbye to the only family he has left, but to renounce his title and start a new life as a mercenary.

_____

The first thing Felix notices when he wakes up is that he’s fully disarmed. His hands are tied to the bed with an absurdly strong chain and his weapons have been taken from him—all of them this time. Even his magic has been sealed and the pendant around his neck gone.

The second thing Felix notices is that he has been stripped of his clothes and put in a white nightshirt. Though plain, it’s no peasant garb; it’s made of the type of fine material only the rich would use in a nightshirt. Leonie would scoff and complain about what a waste of money it was to buy something so fine and only wear it to bed.

The third and final thing Felix notices is a man sitting in an ornate chair at the foot of his bed, wearing his face.

“Good, you’re awake,” the imposter says.

He should have known. Why stop at Annette? She was— _is?_ —an enemy of the Empire. Not like Felix, feared general of the Imperial Army. This thing can insert itself in Edelgard’s court, stand by her side as the real Felix will not. There, it can achieve anything.

Surely, someone will notice? It can’t possibly pass as him with its long, well-kept hair and its pretty, clean clothes. It looks like something that is cared for, something that knows where its next meal is coming from and where it will sleep that night. That’s not Felix. It hasn’t been for years.

Sylvain will know it’s not him.

Right?

Doubt gnaws at him. Sylvain hasn’t seen him since the war ended. He knows Felix turned down the duchy but he hasn’t seen what Felix has become. Maybe Leonie will recognize the imposter for what it is. She knows how far he’s fallen. Or maybe she’ll think Felix has grown tired of being a vagabond and wants his life of privilege back.

The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes this thing can replace him without anyone noticing. There’s no one left in this world that will know the real him from an imposter. Which begs the question, why hasn’t it? What more does it want from him? It already has his identity.

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

“Is there a reason I should?” the imposter asks coldly. “Other than you trying to kill Annette, at least.”

“Don’t bother mocking me, monster. Annette has been dead for six years. I was there when it happened, which you should know if you’re going to steal my life.”

“Those mole people certainly did a shit job making you,” the imposter says, his expression full of disdain.

“Mole… people?”

“Hmph. You don’t even know what you are. I’ll tell you then: you’re a pathetic copy of me that managed to escape our purge of Shambhala.”

_What!?_ The imposter is calling _him_ the copy? And “our purge?” What is that about? Felix didn’t participate in the fight against the Agarthans.

“What are you talking about? You’re the copy.” He pulls at his restraints in frustration.

“Why are you here? For what purpose were you created? If you’ve come for Dimitri, I’ll kill you myself.”

“What? The boar is dead. What kind of sick game are you playing?”

“You really are defective. You must have escaped before they could give you the correct memories. I almost feel sorry for you.”

The expression on his face is too close to pity for Felix’s liking. He wants to smack it off him. He struggles to draw on the power of his Crest to free himself, but for once it doesn’t respond. Somehow, that has been taken away from him too.

“Let me go, or kill me. I won’t have you mocking me any further.”

The door bursts open. A man walks into the room. Felix’s breath catches in recognition.

He looks just as he did during that battle, all those years ago. Taller than the boy he was at the academy, grown into a man. Without his father’s armor on he looks almost lithe, an illusion brought on by his long limbs, for make no mistake: the boar is a big man. Felix remembers all too well how shrunken and small he felt next to the boar’s headless body.

“Boar?” he says too softly for what he should feel.

The boar turns to look at him and whatever Felix is expecting isn’t this: his hair tied back artfully, an eyepatch over one eye, and a circlet around his head that Felix recognizes. A circlet he _knows_ was confiscated by the Empire. It’s impossible for the boar to have it—it must be a replica.

_Right?_

“Ah,” the boar says, “you’re awake. Felix—um, my Felix that is—oh dear. This is confusing.”

“Spit it out. What did Annette say?” the imposter asks.

“He’s not one of them. Or created by them. He’s—this is going to sound strange. I can barely wrap my head around it, but Byleth sent word that there’s been a… breach in time? I think that’s how they put it. This Felix, he really is you—but from a place where things happened differently.”

“That’s absurd. I would never—that’s not me.” The imposter looks at him angrily.

“Felix…” The boar tries to put a hand on the imposter’s shoulder, but the imposter shrugs him off.

“The Archbishop is mistaken.” The imposter crosses his arms.

Felix tries to make sense of the boar’s words. _A place where things happened differently._ Did that mean in this place—in this world—the boar became king?

“I was dying,” Felix says abruptly. “I was dying and I woke up here. But maybe I did die after all.” It makes a certain amount of sense. Reunited with the boar in death, only to find there’s already another Felix at his side. The goddess understands exactly how to punish him.

“This isn’t the land of the dead,” the other Felix snaps.

“If you say so.”

The other Felix sends a jolt of lightning through him, making Felix yelp in pain.

“Felix!” the boar cries.

“Did that feel real enough for you? You’re not dead. And you’re not in some dream.”

Tears fall from Felix’s eyes, clouding his vision. He can’t wipe them off with his hands chained.

“Fuck you,” he spits out.

The other Felix ignores him. “What now then?”

The boar shakes his head ruefully. “I’ll leave that up to you.”

_____

Byleth is the Archbishop in this world. Felix nearly falls over when he finds out. Byleth? It didn’t make any sense. Did Byleth even believe in the goddess? They grew up outside the church’s influence. They turned against the church to save Edelgard. They fought to ensure its destruction. They killed the Immaculate one with Edelgard.

Except, as Felix learns, this Byleth followed a much different path than the Byleth of his world. This Byleth, when asked which class to lead, chose the Blue Lions and never developed a bond with Edelgard. This changes everything. It isn’t Felix’s actions, as he incorrectly assumes, but Byleth’s, that makes the difference. The thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

Byleth arrives by Wyvern to speak with Felix. Their hair is still that pale green color from the goddess’s blessing and their manner is more subdued than the Byleth he knows, but otherwise they’re more similar than he expects them to be, given their drastically different life trajectories. Their unnerving gaze is certainly the same.

“You were brought here by unfulfilled desires. When you fulfill them, you’ll be freed.” Byleth tells him.

It’s been two days since he’s woken up in this strange new world. His things are still missing and his magic is sealed, but he’s no longer chained to a bed, so he supposes he should be grateful.

“What desires? And what do you mean by freed?”

“You would know your desires better than I do, as we fell out of touch in that timeline. And by freed, I suppose you can describe it as freed in spirit.”

He ignores the implication that this Byleth knows what happened in his world. It disturbs him too greatly. “So I’ll die?”

“We all do eventually.”

“You weren’t so cryptic in my world.”

“You haven’t seen me in six years. How would you know?” Though their face is impassive, Felix senses a feeling of amusement from them.

“Hmph. Fair enough.”

“This isn’t your world,” Byleth says carefully.

“I know that,” Felix snaps.

“What I mean to say is: it can’t be your world either. If you don’t fulfill your desires quickly enough, your spirit will become trapped.”

“What does that mean? How long do I have?”

Byleth shakes their head. “I would say perhaps a few weeks, a month at most. I advise you not to test it.”

“Wonderful. But you didn’t answer my first question.”

“Don’t become trapped, Felix. Then you don’t have to worry about it.”

_____

With Byleth on their side, the Kingdom inevitably wins the war. Most of the people Felix spent half a decade fighting with are dead, while the people he watched die are alive.

He doesn’t know how he feels about that.

In a moment of weakness he asks his other self about their old man, thinking if this is a world where they won, he might still be alive.

“He’s dead. The old man took a hit meant for Dimitri.”

Anger and disappointment surge through him, shocking him. Why? What right did he have to feel those things? In his world he watched the professor cleave his old man in two with that strange sword relic of theirs.

_Your own father, Felix!_ For the boar to chide him in their world only to use the old man as a meat shield in another—

His other self looks at him funny, but Felix isn’t in the mood to work out why. He simply takes the meal offered to him and eats in silence, stewing in his thoughts.

“If you have something to say, just say it,” the other Felix says, scowling.

“Am I your prisoner?” Felix asks.

“Dimitri would like to let you go, but I know better. You can’t be trusted. You’re a traitor and will always be a traitor.”

A traitor, huh? He’s been called worse over the years. But for some reason, it especially irks him hearing it from a man that shares his face.

“At least I’m not a madman’s keeper like you.” The words tumble out of him carelessly as they always do when he’s angry. He doesn’t expect the reaction they provoke.

The other Felix slaps him—hard, made all the worse by the ring on his finger that digs into Felix’s skin. It hurts. Felix is too shocked to hide his pain. His eyes well up in tears.

“You know nothing,” the other Felix says, his eyes blazing in anger. “You’re a fool. You betrayed everything that matters. The sight of you makes me want to wretch.”

Felix touches his cheek; he’s bleeding. That blasted ring cut him. He takes a closer look at it and his stomach rolls. There are two Crests engraved along the golden band: his own and the boar’s. It’s also, damningly, on his ring finger.

“I was mistaken. You’re not his keeper. You’re his _whore_.” He’s going to be sick. The boar and him—they were—they are—

The boar points his lance at Felix. Rain falls, but not loud enough to drown out his words. It should be easy to kill him, it’s supposed to be easy.

The other Felix sucks in a deep breath, pulling him back to the present. “Does it terrify you to know you could have been happy?”

“What?”

“If only you didn’t leave him,” the other Felix says, his voice full of pity. “You could have been happy. Instead, you’re broken and alone.” He stands up and walks away, quietly locking the door behind him.

Felix runs to the bathroom and hurls.

_____

Felix wakes up to rain beating against his lone window. The sky is dark, but from the chill of the room he suspects it’s early morning. He covers his head with a pillow to block out the sound of the falling rain; it doesn’t work. The rain rings in his head, makes him anxious and irritated. He hasn’t been able to stand the sound of it since that day on the Tailtean Plains.

He closes his eyes and sees the boar in his father’s armor, Areadbhar glowing at his side as the rain falls around them. The boar doesn’t attack him right away. He tries to reason with Felix. There, on the battlefield, as death rages around them, the boar hesitates. Has to work up the nerve to kill Felix. But Felix can’t go back on his path; he’s made his choice.

Each strike of Areadbhar against Aegis feels wrong. His shield has never felt more alive than it does during that battle, and that awareness, that _spirit_ , is mourning. His arm feels heavy.

When he thinks back to it, he doesn’t know how he beat the boar. A moment of distraction, his weakness toward magic, all of it compounds to give Felix the upper hand. His sword drives into the boar’s chest. But still it doesn’t kill him. It takes a swing of Edelgard’s axe to finish the job.

All the while, the rain keeps pouring.

_____

The boar brings him breakfast. A surprise, as the other Felix has been bringing him his meals; he hasn’t seen the boar since that first day. He imagines as king, the boar must be much too busy to attend to him yet here he is, cautiously wheeling in food like a common servant.

Felix snorts and then clamps his hand against his mouth. The boar glances at him, the eyebrow over his covered eye rising ridiculously. The act is so foolish it makes Felix want to throw his oil lamp at the boar’s face.

The boar pours Felix a cup of tea. Nestled on his ring finger is a golden band, engraved with the Blaiddyd and Fraldarius crests, an amber jewel at the center. The other Felix’s ring had a sapphire. Seeing it makes Felix want to hide under his bed covers until the boar leaves.

“You said something that upset Felix yesterday. I must ask that you refrain from speaking that way in the future.” The boar’s tone is polite and amicable; Felix isn’t soothed by it.

“I’ll say whatever I damn well please.”

He expects the boar to get angry, but instead he simply sighs. “I suppose that’s your way. Byleth mentioned you’re a mercenary?” The boar finishes setting up Felix’s breakfast on the small table in his room. Usually, at this point the other Felix leaves, returning later to pick up his empty plates.

“I am. What’s it to you?”

“Am I not allowed to be interested in your life? You’re free to ask any questions you have as well.”

“How long do you plan on keeping me here as a prisoner?”

The boar looks guilty. “Until Felix deems otherwise. Like I said, you should refrain from upsetting him.”

Great. He’s never getting out of here then. “Did the profes—the Archbishop, explain to you I need to—do something? And that I have a limited amount of time to accomplish it?”

“They mentioned something of the sort. Unfortunately, your release isn’t for me to decide.”

“You’re the king.”

“I trust Felix’s judgment. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

He gives Felix a curt nod and leaves him behind.

_____

A week passes before the other Felix visits him again.

In the interim, Felix spends his days reading through a growing collection of books and managing what little exercise he can get through in a confined space. The boar brings him his meals, usually staying long enough to chat and ask irritating questions. Annette also visits, once even bringing Mercedes with her.

Seeing Mercedes is like seeing the professor—but worse. She’s identical to the Mercedes in his world. He feels as if at any moment she’s going to chide him for fighting like he has a death wish, like she always does after patching him up after some job gone wrong.

The illusion of her familiarity shatters when he slips up and asks about Emile. The last Felix heard, he was serving time in an Enbarr prison, writing letters to his mother and sister on occasion. She fills Felix in on them the few times a year he shows up bleeding on her doorstep.

In this world, Emile is dead.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve known.” Of course Edelgard’s grim reaper wouldn’t make it through the war. Felix knows that—he simply forgot who he was talking to. This isn’t his Mercedes. Guilt gnaws at him. It’s a new feeling; he never feels it when Mercedes begs him to quit being a mercenary.

“It’s all right. I’m happy you mentioned him, actually. In a strange way, it’s comforting to know in some other world he’s alive and trying to atone.”

Her words strike him, but he isn’t sure why.

“He is. He helped the professor destroy the Agarthans.”

“Who?” Annette asks.

“The, uh, mole people?”

“Oh!” Mercedes and Annette exclaim.

Mercedes leaves him a pile of baked goods catered to his tastes; nothing too sweet.

It’s the first thing the other Felix notices when he finally visits again. “Mercedes was here.” He clicks his tongue unhappily. “I told Dimitri you’re not to have visitors. You’re too dangerous.”

Felix balks. “I would never hurt Mercedes.”

“You almost killed _Annette_ ,” he hisses.

“I didn’t know it was actually her!”

“You think that absolves you? Did you kill her in your world? What about Mercedes? Ingrid? Sylvain? Which of them did you kill?”

“I didn’t kill any of them. Mercedes and Sylvain fought for the Empire.”

“Mercedes and Sylvain… but not Ingrid? No, of course not. She’d never turn her back on Faerghus.”

Felix swallows. _Do you think we made the right decision?_ Sylvain asks him after Arianrhod.

“She was blinded by her loyalty to a country and king that didn’t deserve it. Do you want to know what they called the boar in my world? _The Tempest King._ He wasn’t like the man you know. He went mad. He thought Edelgard was behind the Tragedy of Duscur and became obsessed with killing her. If you had seen what he became you would have joined the Empire too.”

Felix laughs; it’s a bitter, ugly sound. “You think he was any different in this world? He almost doomed us all on his quest for revenge. Don’t speak as if you’re the only one that’s seen him at his worst. The difference is that I didn’t run away from it.”

Felix feels like his breath has been knocked out of him. He remembers how unhinged the boar became when the Flame Emperor’s identity was revealed; how seeing him like that cemented Felix’s choice to side with Edelgard.

The boar is a monster. It’s an irrefutable fact. He smiles as he slaughters his enemies. He fights without regard to his life, driven to madness by revenge.

“You don’t understand,” Felix says.

“No, it’s you that doesn’t understand.”

Another memory: the boar cries out in anguish when Dedue transforms, and again when he falls to Petra’s sword. The boar did not seem evil then, mourning the loss of his friend.

“He wouldn’t surrender.”

“Did you really give him the choice?”

_No._

“Claude surrendered. If the boar wasn’t mad, he would have done the same.” Instead he ranted and raved at Edelgard until his last breath. Accusing her of killing her own mother and other such foolish notions.

The boar was delusional. But did that mean the only way forward was with his death? It’s the question Felix has been asking since Edelgard swung her axe.

“The choice was easy for Claude. You can’t compare him to Dimitri.”

“This is pointless. How long do you plan on keeping me locked up for? There’s something I must do before my time is gone.”

The other Felix tosses him his pendant; it thrums with unknown magic when he catches it.

“Put that on. When you’re wearing it, people won’t be able to recognize you unless they’ve seen you without it. As long as you’re wearing it, you’ll be allowed out of this room.”

“What about my things?”

“They’ll be brought to you.”

“And if I choose to leave the castle and not come back?”

The other Felix smiles. “You won’t.”

“If I’m to be let out on a leash, just say it. Don’t give me the illusion of freedom.”

“Truly, you’re free to go wherever you wish. You can leave entirely; I don’t care. But you won’t—because Dimitri is here.”

_____

Felix checks for the boar’s letter. It’s right where he left it in his pocket; unharmed, despite the fact that his coat has been washed. Likely, his pocket was emptied beforehand and his things returned once it was dry. The thought of someone else touching the letter upsets him. He scrapes at where it’s sealed, considering whether to open it.

In the end, he shoves the letter back into his pocket.

The pendant’s magic is true: no one spares him a second glance as he walks through the castle. He doesn’t know what they see when they look at him (when he catches his reflection he looks unchanged) but whoever it is goes ignored by the castle’s inhabitants. That’s fine by him. He wears anonymity well.

He spends the next few days wandering around the castle and Fhirdiad, puzzling over the Archbishop’s cryptic instructions. If he doesn’t want to get trapped—whatever that entails—he has to follow them. But despite the Archbishop’s claims he knows his desires best, Felix is at a loss. What does Felix want so badly that it makes him run from death and cross into another world?

Felix leans over the castle wall and stares at the frozen moat below. The chill in the air picks up; snow gently falls. It’s been a while since he’s let himself enjoy a proper northern winter. He hasn’t been able to as a mercenary; snow is dangerous to travel in. He avoids it whenever he can. A shame considering how much he loves it. His childhood is full of memories of running around in the snow: pelting Glenn with snowballs, sledding with Sylvain, ice skating with—

A commotion at the gates catches his attention. A group of knights have arrived; Felix wouldn’t spare them a second glance if not for the fact that instead of horses, their steeds are pegasi grounded due to the snow.

Felix curls his fist against the wall.

At the front of the group is a woman with short, wheat colored hair. She speaks to the guards as the other pegasus knights disperse into the castle grounds. When she glances in his direction, Felix’s heart stops.

_Ingrid._

She’s alive. Alive, and living her dreams. Her hair is styled differently, still short. Snow falls on top of her head; she brushes it off. She looks well. Felix wants to call out to her, but with the pendant on, she won’t know him. So he watches her and tries not to think about the last time he saw her.

Ingrid guards Arianrhod with his father. The daughter he was supposed to have; loyal and courageous, the perfect knight. She doesn’t betray him.

Ingrid swoops down on her pegasus to confront Felix on the battlefield.

_Felix, why?_

Why? He doesn’t have an answer for her. He wanted to break free from his old man, from the boar. He wanted to—what exactly? His old man is dead; the professor’s sword striking him down dispassionately. He doesn’t feel relieved by it. He feels something he doesn’t want to name.

Ingrid sees his hesitation, his conflict, and lunges at him; it’s only Sylvain’s intervention that saves him. The final blow against Ingrid comes from one of Bernadetta’s arrows, but it’s Sylvain that subdues her, injures her enough that she can be struck down. He’s a strong opponent, but it’s not why he wins. Sylvain wins because Ingrid doesn’t want to kill him; she wants to save him. Felix understands her at that moment better than he ever has.

The snow picks up; Felix shivers. Ingrid turns away from him and steps past the guards.

Felix wonders if seeing Ingrid again is one of his desires. Maybe. He doesn’t feel any different from seeing her, but he’s glad she’s alive all the same.

_____

Fhirdiad is covered in snow from a storm that raged through the night. The streets are being cleared; the city is shut down in the meantime. Felix strolls through the royal gardens, relishing in the utter quiet. The castle feels crowded today; there’s nowhere for its inhabitants to go. They bunch together, huddling around the fireplaces for warmth. Felix scoffs; he doesn’t need a fire to keep warm. A walk outside will do the same.

The gardens are the most changed part of the castle from what he remembers. There are rows of greenhouses on the western side of the grounds; new additions that have Dedue’s influence all over them. Dedue is one of the people he expects to run into at the castle but hasn't yet; when he pokes around he discovers Dedue is spending the winter in Duscur. It surprises him. He expects Dedue to act like the boar’s shadow. He always did, back at the academy. Felix dislikes how much this confuses him. He doesn’t understand this world.

More poking around lets him learn Sylvain is in Gautier, and Ashe in Gaspard. Hopefully, this isn’t a problem for Felix’s unfulfilled desires. He doesn’t have much time left to fulfill them.

Felix passes by a bridge connecting the second level of the royal apartments to an older wing of the castle. He looks up and sees a swirl of brilliant blue: the boar walking across the bridge, his cloak flapping behind him, with the other Felix at his side.

They’re talking, but they’re too high up for Felix to make out what they’re saying. The other Felix holds a pile of paperwork to his chest. The boar stops him and points to something in the gardens; the other Felix cranes his neck to see it.

While the other Felix is distracted, the boar kisses the side of his head, making him sputter angrily. The boar says something, his demeanor calm, and after a beat he kisses Felix properly, craning his neck to reach Felix’s lips.

They break apart; exchange words Felix can’t hear. The other Felix walks off in a huff; the boar trails behind him with a smile Felix can see from the ground.

Felix aches. A decade of anger shouldn’t be able to vanish so quickly. He doesn’t care what the other Felix claims: this Dimitri isn’t like the boar from his world. If he was, Felix would be immune to him.

Felix spends the rest of the afternoon pacing the gardens.

_____

_Did you figure out your desires yet?_ the Archbishop writes. _If you haven’t, here’s a hint: what do you think about when you go to bed at night? What do you see in your dreams?_

He thinks of nothing, he dreams of nothing. The Archbishop’s hints are useless. There’s a very real possibility his spirit will become stuck. He wishes the Archbishop wrote about what that means instead.

A knock on the door interrupts his brooding.

“Come in,” he says, expecting it to be a servant bringing him his food.

It’s not. It’s Dimitri.

“Would you like to join us for dinner?” Dimitri asks.

_Us._

“Yes,” Felix answers.

Dimitri’s ensuing smile is too much for him to look at; Felix turns away to put on his boots.

Dimitri leads him to the royal apartments. The other Felix scowls when he sees him enter their private quarters.

“What’s he doing here?”

“I invited him here to dine with us.” Dimitri gives the other Felix a quick peck on the forehead; it momentarily subdues him, like a wild animal being given a treat.

“Why?”

“Must I have a reason?” Dimitri asks as he gestures at Felix to sit as he sets their plates; it’s bizarre being served by a king but the other Felix shows no sign he finds Dimitri’s action strange.

“You want me to forgive him. I can see right through you.”

“You always tell me to forgive myself. Why can’t you do the same?”

“Because he’s not me.”

It’s amazing how much Felix pisses himself off.

“I am you! You just got lucky and had the professor on your side.” The moment the professor chose Edelgard, they sealed the boar’s fate.

“Luck?” The other Felix clenches his fist. “It wasn’t luck that made you betray your friends and family. You should have died before betraying them!”

“Felix—”

“You think I don’t know that? Every day I wonder what would have happened if I’d made a different choice. And then I end up here and I see it, I see what could have been and instead of making me feel better, I feel worse.”

“You should!”

“ _Felix._ ” Dimitri reaches for the other Felix but he stands up to storm away.

Dimitri isn’t having it; he follows after Felix and grabs him, holding him tight to his chest. The other Felix thrashes, saying something Felix can’t quite hear, and then stills. Dimitri keeps holding him.

It pisses off Felix more than anything else so far. He feels so angry he begins to shake. The other Felix has no idea—no idea what he feels like. He has _everything_.

Felix’s chair scrapes against the floor as he stands to leave. He can’t be here with them. This was a mistake.

“Felix, wait!”

Felix starts to run. A hand grabs him; he can’t escape from its hold. Dimitri has the other Felix secured neatly to his side with one hand; the other hand is an iron grip around Felix’s wrist.

“Let go of me, boar.” He tests Dimitri’s hold; he might as well be a statue.

“I don’t want to,” Dimitri says, pulling Felix closer.

Felix crashes into Dimitri’s unoccupied side.

“Oi! What are you doing, boar?”

He tries to push Dimitri away but he’s no more successful than the other Felix is.

“How long do you plan on smothering us for?” the other Felix asks.

“This is a hug, Felix. I’m not smothering anyone. If the two of you would stop being so difficult, you might enjoy it.”

“I can’t forgive him.”

“I don’t want you to,” Felix says, surprising himself. “You’re not the one that has to. You’re right. You’re not me. I’m the one that hasn’t been able to—I haven’t. I can’t.”

Dimitri’s hold tightens around him. “It’s hard. I understand. Will you run away if I let you go?”

Felix shakes his head.

“Good. Let’s finish eating.”

_____

That night, Felix dreams of the Tailtean Plains. The gore of the battlefield is gone; fields of blooming flowers take its place. His Dimitri is there, waiting for him. His father’s armor gleams in the sunlight.

They speak, but of what, Felix doesn’t remember. The details fade when he wakes up.

_What do you see in your dreams?_

He has an answer now.

_____

Each day might be Felix’s last, so he spends them at Dimitri’s side. The other Felix is there too, of course. At first, he seems irritated by Felix’s presence but by the third day of Felix’s lurking he’s almost pleasant to him.

“Have you figured out the Archbishop’s request?” the other Felix asks as they sit by the fireplace in Dimtri’s study.

“Yes.” He doesn’t elaborate.

“Well, why haven’t you done it yet? Won’t you be able to leave then?”

He’s not sure “leave” is the right word for it. He died; the truth of it is inescapable. This world is a resting stop for him. “I’m doing it right now.” His eyes roam over to where Dimitri hunches at his desk, reading.

“Hmm. What was it that the Archbishop said exactly?”

“That I was brought here by unfulfilled desires, and if I fulfill them I’ll be free. Why?”

“ _Desires?_ ” the other Felix screeches.

Dimitri looks up from his desk, confused. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” the other Felix says, his voice rising. “What’s going on? I would like to know myself! We’re married! I don’t know what you’re thinking—”

Felix’s eyes widen at the insinuation. “What? I’m not—desires doesn’t have to mean—”

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Dimitri interrupts. “Felix, ah, either Felix, care to explain?”

“Either Felix? This is how I’m treated by you?” The other Felix points an accusing finger at Dimitri. “Do you even care which one of us you have? You’re absolutely shameless.”

“I’m definitely missing something,” Dimitri mumbles.

“Do you know what he said to me? He said he was brought to this world to fulfill his desires.”

“I see?”

“No, you don’t see! You don’t, because you’re a fool. The only desire I’ve ever had in my life is you. Of course I’ve known he’s wanted you this whole time, but I didn’t think it was the reason he was _here_.”

Felix’s face burns. “That isn’t—you’re taking things out of context,” he tries to correct. “I’m here because of Dimitri, but I’m not—expecting anything. This is my problem, not yours.”

“The Archbishop said if you don’t do as they requested, you won’t be able to move on. Were you planning on staying here forever?” the other Felix asks.

“No, of course not.” The Archbishop would have told him if getting “stuck” was that simple. Whatever it actually means is something much worse.

“So what then, were you planning on asking Dimitri alone? Have you been just waiting for the right opportunity?”

"No! No, I already told you I’m not expecting anything.” He isn’t. He would rather miss his chance to be free than to ruin this world too.

The other Felix stands and glowers at him. “Why are you assuming our answer?”

“What?”

“You never asked us if we’d be willing!”

“Willing to do what? Let me spend the night in your marriage bed? Don’t be absurd.”

Dimitri makes a noise like he’s been punched. Clearly, he isn’t expecting Felix’s proposal. There’s a sound of glass falling. His inkwell, maybe. Knocked over in his shock.

Felix’s eyes grow hot.

“Yes,” the other Felix says.

There’s a beat of silence.

“What?” Felix wipes his eyes.

“You heard me. The answer is yes. Dimitri?” He turns to his husband to have a silent conversation. Felix can’t begin to follow it; instead, he stares at the mess of black ink on the floor.

“Are you sure?” Dimitri asks, his voice strange.

“I wouldn’t have said yes otherwise.” The other Felix turns back to him. “Stand up.”

Felix obeys. What else can he do? The situation has long gotten out of control. If the other Felix wants to drag out his humiliation further, so be it. He deserves it. He’s a blight on their otherwise perfect lives. A collection of mistakes in human form.

The other Felix looks at him—meets his eyes as he usually doesn’t. They’re the same height—of course they are. Why wouldn’t they be? Felix simply hasn’t processed it before. Usually all he can see are their differences: his short and choppy hair, the other Felix’s long and even ponytail; the scar above his eyebrow, the scar on the other Felix’s wrist; the permanent look of exhaustion that greets him in the mirror, the healthy glow he sees on his counterpart. They’re far from twins.

As he considers their diverging paths, the distance between them closes until the other Felix steps so near their breaths mingle. His eyes—are they normally this yellow? And his eyelashes—surely they can’t be this long?

Soft lips press against his mouth. He isn’t expecting it; he lets out a muffled cry the other Felix swallows.

_What’s happening? Doesn’t the other Felix hate him?_ It’s such an absurd, idiotic thought: he’s being kissed by another version of himself—shouldn’t he be recoiling in disgust or something? There has to be some kind of moral standard against it. They’re basically related, right? Sort of. Or is it akin to jerking himself off?

His moral quandaries fall to the wayside as his other self deepens their kiss. Unfortunately, he knows exactly how to kiss himself. His weaknesses, his preferences: how to lick into his mouth just as he likes, how to bite his lip at the perfect moment, how to tug at his hair to turn him pliant. It’s unfair.

Heavy arms wrap around him from behind, pulling him flush against a broad chest. He didn’t notice Dimitri circle behind him, which feels patently absurd. How distracted is he by his own tongue?

Dimitri’s teeth graze Felix’s neck dangerously; Felix digs his nails into Dimitri’s forearms in warning. A chuckle follows, then a bite just shy of breaking skin that makes Felix feel strangely lightheaded.

“ _Dimitri_ ,” he reprimands.

Dimitri takes it as encouragement instead; he bites him again and again, leaving a mess of marks on Felix’s skin. Each bite is a shock and a test of Felix’s trust. Dimitri’s strength is obvious in everything he does, even this; danger is ever present. Felix finds he likes it that way. His kisses turn sloppy and erratic.

The other Felix smirks and pulls away. “You’ve never been properly taken care of, have you? Not by someone that knows you.”

Felix shakes his head. The few times he’s done anything have been singular encounters; he doesn’t remember anyone’s names.

“Poor thing,” the other Felix says in mock pity. He takes a look at the way Felix leans against Dimitri for support. “Can you make it to our bedroom, or does Dimitri have to carry you?”

Felix blushes. “I’m not some swooning maiden. I can walk perfectly fine.” He pushes himself off Dimitri to prove it, instantly missing the solidness of him.

“He wants you to carry him.”

“What?” Felix yells, alarmed.

His concerns are ignored; Dimitri lifts him by his thighs and holds him in his arms like a bride. Not exactly a surprise, but it perturbs Felix how obvious it is that his weight is nothing to Dimitri. He can’t find a single hint of strain.

“Does this mean you like it when I carry you, my love?” Dimitri asks as they head to the royal chambers.

“Don’t ask such foolish questions. I always tell you when I don’t like something, don’t I?”

“Ah, that’s certainly true. You’ve always been one for honesty. I remember how you used to cry when Rodrigue said you couldn’t play with me.”

“Shut up,” both Felixs say.

Dimitri chuckles. “I see. You remember as well.”

Of course he does. It always felt like the end of the world when the old man separated them, however brief their time apart was.

“It wasn’t fair that Glenn got to spend time with you when I didn’t.” Felix pouts into Dimitri’s shoulder.

The other Felix groans. “Don’t tell him that. He’s already unbearable enough as it is.”

“Come now, Felix. Already abandoning your pledge of honesty?” His shameless appeal earns him a click of a tongue and a sharp glare.

The royal chambers are cold enough to make him shiver when they enter. Dimitri sets him down on the bed as the other Felix lights a fire. A table strewn with books and a haphazard collection of clothes is clearly Dimitri’s dumping ground. At the other end of the room is a much neater vanity; the most notable thing about it is a collection of combs, each more expensive looking than the last. Dimitri takes off his cloak, adds it to the pile he’s been amassing. Sets his gloves aside on a stool. The other Felix crouches at the fireplace, his hands held out to warm them. The hurried atmosphere from before is gone.

Felix feels like an intruder. He doesn’t belong here. Not in this world, and certainly not in this room. He feels more anxious with each passing second. He begins to slide off the bed, excuses forming in his mind.

The other Felix gathers himself together and stands, turns to find Felix on the verge of bolting.

“I—” Felix begins.

“Save it. I can guess well enough what’s going on in your head. Let me make myself clear: I didn’t say yes to this out of pity.” He walks over to Felix, his legs slotting over Felix’s hips to straddle him. “I want to watch my husband fuck you.” He pushes Felix flat on his back. “Do you understand?”

Felix nods.

“Good boy.”

Felix’s pulse quickens.

“Dimitri,” the other Felix calls.

Dimitri sits next to him obediently, the bed shifting under his weight. The other Felix grabs his jaw and pulls him in for a kiss.

Watching an alternate version of himself and Dimitri kiss should be strange and it is—it is—but he quickly sees the appeal of it: all the details of the way Dimitri kisses he would miss otherwise. The flutter of his eyelashes, the bob of his throat, the slope of his shoulders. The other Felix strokes Dimitri’s face as he kisses him; the tender gesture a mismatch for the way Dimitri devours him. The contrast makes Felix squirm; all of it does. His pants strain; with Felix on top of him he has nowhere to hide. The wet sounds of their kissing reverberate in his ears; he bucks his hips involuntarily.

The other Felix lets out a strangled cry. Flustered, he turns his head away.

Dimitri makes a sound of displeasure; he grabs his chin and holds his head in place so he can keep kissing him. His demure obedience from earlier completely gone.

Felix bucks his hips again, deliberately, in a surge of boldness. The other Felix moans into Dimitri’s mouth, trapped by his hand and unable to squirm away as Felix continues his assault. For a small time, Felix feels smug. He finally has the upper hand against his counterpart.

Then the other Felix grinds down on top of him and his moment of triumph is over. He’s relentless, his hard cock pressing against Felix shamelessly. All while Dimitri kisses him like he never wants to stop.

Felix wants Dimitri to kiss him too. He reaches for him, whining pitifully.

“Please,” Felix begs, close to tears. He hates himself a little for it.

Dimitri and the other Felix break apart.

“‘Please’ what?” the other Felix asks cruelly.

Dimitri, at least, is kind. “Do you want me to kiss you too?”

Felix nods.

“Felix, Felix. Why didn’t you say so?”

Dimitri whispers something into the other Felix’s ear, who nods in reply before they switch places.

The change is a shock. Dimitri is heavy, so much heavier than himself. He crushes Felix as he leans down to kiss him, almost uncomfortably. But just as he knows how hard to bite, he knows how much of his weight to give to Felix. It’s an ingrained habit; everything about how he kisses Felix is.

It’s dizzying. At least when Felix was kissing himself, he knew how to retaliate. With Dimitri everything is brand new, but only for him. Dimitri kisses him like he’s done it a thousand times before, which in a way he _has_. The unfairness of it makes Felix seethe in jealousy. He wraps his limbs around Dimitri possessively, not ever wanting to let him go.

He doesn’t notice when the other Felix sits next to them—too wrapped up in thoughts of _Dimitri, Dimitri, Dimitri_ —but he certainly does miss when he starts stroking his hair. Gently at first, the slight pull against his scalp almost soothing, before turning into harsh tugs that make tears fall from his eyes. The pain goes straight to his cock, bringing him dangerously close to release.

“Wait, wait.” All of them still. Felix takes a shuddering breath and considers his next words carefully. “It’s too hot,” he says rather than admit the embarrassing truth that he’s barely keeping himself together.

Dimitri glances at the other Felix and they must have another one of their silent conversations as Dimitri nods and climbs off Felix to undress. Though it’s exactly what Felix was hinting at, it still takes him by surprise, but not as much as when the other Felix begins to undress as well.

They’re truly doing this. Felix unlaces his pants with trembling hands. He wants this; he can’t pretend otherwise with the way his body is responding. But, is it all right for him to want it? Without the distraction of hands in his hair or a heavy body against his, his mind wanders.

His thoughts come to a halt when he sees his counterpart remove the last of his clothes. His back is turned to Felix, which makes it all the stranger. Felix doesn’t have much interest in his appearance; he can’t remember the last he looked in a mirror. His one source of vanity was his hair, but that ended when he hacked it off after renouncing his title. His vague disconnect to his appearance makes seeing his body from an outside perspective surreal. Is that really his back? His legs? His chest, his arms, his hips, his cock? Despite the difference in their professions, there's not much of a difference in their muscles—if anything his counterpart has him beat, clearly eating much better than he does. Felix wonders which one of them would win in a fight.

“We should spar,” Felix blurts out. He can’t believe he hasn’t considered it before—what better opponent is there than himself?

“Now?” the other Felix asks, more amused than anything.

“Of course not. But later, if you’re not opposed to it”

“I would like to see that,” Dimitri adds, smiling.

Felix’s mouth gapes open stupidly when he gets his first eyeful of Dimitri. He’s large. Everywhere. Everywhere is large. Felix knew that, obviously, but it’s different when he’s right in front of him, freed from his layers of cumbersome fabric. His chest is covered in light blond hair, much more than he can remember seeing on him when they were students. Scars dot the landscape of his body, much more than Felix expects. Though his other self has his share of scars, Dimitri has much more. Wasn’t he supposed to be Dimitri’s shield? Did he not protect him? Was it inevitable in every world for Felix to fail him?

“What’s wrong?” Dimitri asks, before realizing Felix is staring at his scars. “Ah, I know I’m not the prettiest sight to look at—”

“You are,” the other Felix says fiercely. “And it’s not you he’s upset at. It’s me. Isn’t that right?”

“I thought you were there for him in this world. But you weren’t, were you? You failed him, just as I failed him. So why are you the one he chose? Why does he stay by your side when you don’t deserve it?”

For once, his counterpart doesn’t have an answer for him. He looks pained, his usual confidence stripped from him, making him look small.

Dimitri takes Felix’s hand and pulls him until he looks at him.

“You didn’t fail me, Felix.”

“I did. I always do.”

“You made your mistakes, as have I. We wouldn’t be ourselves if we didn’t. I asked it of my Felix, and now I ask it of you. Please, can you try to forgive yourself?”

Forgive _himself_? He doesn’t want to. But for Dimitri—

“I’ll try.”

“Thank you, Felix.” Dimitri shivers. The fireplace isn’t doing much for the room and, Felix remembers with a start, they’re all naked because of him—making it his fault Dimitri is cold. He wonders if he should apologize.

His counterpart gets up to angrily ransack a drawer. Felix flinches at the noise; he waits for the inevitable of being asked to leave. Clearly, his outburst irreversibly ruined the mood.

The other Felix finds what he’s looking for: a small, unremarkable bottle. When he opens it to pour oil on his fingers Felix realizes he isn’t angry, but _impatient_.

Felix watches in fascination as if the sight has nothing to do with him. It does, of course, and he finds out soon enough when the other Felix passes the bottle to Dimitri and draws nearer to him. He parts Felix’s legs—or maybe Felix’s legs are already open; he doesn’t know anymore as time becomes disjointed—and rubs teasing circles around Felix’s entrance.

“Oh,” Felix says before a slick finger penetrates him.

The shape of the finger inside him is exactly what he’s used to, but when he’s not the one controlling it the familiarity doesn’t matter. He squirms; the other Felix isn’t easy on him. He adds a second finger without warning, looking pleased with himself when Felix takes it without complaint.

Dimitri closes the bottle and lets it roll to the floor. Slowly, he strokes his cock, watching Felix get fingered in obvious appreciation.

“I want to touch you,” Felix begs. “Let me, please.”

“Felix.” Dimitri’s breath hitches as he says his name.

He moves closer until his cock is within Felix’s reach. Felix grabs it like he would a prized sword; with reverence and a desire to claim it for himself. His hand slides easily along its length from the way Dimitri has coated it in oil; he tightens his grip and adds his other hand, stroking him with determination.

A third finger penetrates him, destroying his concentration. He cries out, his strokes turning sloppy. The other Felix stretches him wider and wider until he starts to wonder if he plans on sticking his fist in next.

“Turn over,” the other Felix commands, pulling his fingers out abruptly.

“What?” Felix asks even as he lets go of Dimitri’s cock and does as he’s told.

“Good,” he glides his hand down Felix’s back. “Raise your hips.”

He raises them and waits; there are sounds behind him, whispering he can’t make out, before strong hands grab onto his waist and lift him onto a fat cock. It pushes into him easily, like he’s made for it, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling like his breath is being knocked away. Tears form at his eyes.

Dimitri lifts him until he’s sitting in his lap, speared onto his cock. He tries to speak but all he manages is to open his mouth and gasp pathetically. Dimitri is inside of him, truly. It’s not a dream, not a conjuring of his imagination. He presses down on his stomach and moans when he feels Dimitri’s cock through it.

The other Felix sits in front of him, his eyes burning, and slots his tongue into Felix’s open mouth. It’s too much; Felix has never felt this way before.

“You feel so good, Felix,” Dimitri says, dragging his cock in and out of Felix torturously.

If he wasn’t being held up between them, Felix doubts he could be sitting upright. He feels weak, like at any moment he might fall apart. He isn’t sure what it’s from—the feeling of being fucked so thoroughly, or because it’s Dimitri that’s doing it. Dimitri—and _himself_.

His counterpart decides kissing him isn’t enough and brings their cocks together. He jerks them off, messy and frantic, twisting his wrist differently from the way Felix touches himself. He realizes why when Dimitri joins in, his tight grip making them both cry out. The other Felix touches them the way Dimitri does.

“I’m close,” Felix says. “Please.” He doesn’t know what he’s asking for.

“Come then,” his counterpart says.

Felix obeys, spilling between them. He feels boneless as Dimitri pulls out of him, barely coherent when Dimitri gently kisses him and sets him down.

The other Felix fills the place he left behind and seats himself on Dimitri’s cock, his rim stretching obscenely wide. He braces his hands on Dimitri’s chest and rides him, his hole swallowing up Dimitri greedily.

Their foreheads come together; they stare into each other’s eyes. Felix might as well not be in the room with the way they look at each other; he’s been completely forgotten. The realization should hurt him, but it isn’t heartbreak that he feels, but relief. Relief that his presence hasn’t spoiled anything, hasn’t caused any awkwardness or tension. Their feelings are stronger than anything he can break.

He strokes himself, languid in his movements, as he watches them find pleasure together. The other Felix unravels, as undone by Dimitri’s cock as he was. The pace the other Felix sets is taken over by Dimitri; he clings to him desperately, burying his face against his shoulder as Dimitri’s thrusts gain power. Dimitri takes the ribbons out of his hair, freeing the dark strands to fall down his back. The other Felix returns the gesture in his own way, stealing the eyepatch from Dimitri’s eye and tossing it away.

Felix’s stomach drops when he sees what’s underneath it. The pain of the initial injury must have been unbearable.

The other Felix kisses Dimitri’s scarred eyelid, whispering words Felix can’t hear. Whatever they are makes Dimitri come, spilling into the other Felix, who follows him moments after in a hushed moan.

To Felix’s surprise, the two of them haven’t forgotten him. After a short pause, they lie next to him, one of them on his right and the other on his left, and stroke him together, kissing the sides of his face with a sweetness he’s never known before. They surround him, take care of him, their touches loving and kind like he never lets anyone be with him. The last of his walls crumble in their embrace. When he comes, the tears in his eyes are purely from happiness.

_____

Felix wakes up snuggled between two heavy, sticky bodies. A hand at his hip makes it impossible for him to move, it’s grip unbreakable. A curtain of dark hair that isn’t his tickles his face.

It’s the best way he’s ever woken up in his life.

He doesn’t head back to his bedroom until late in the afternoon. The morning he spends sparring himself.

“What was that?” the other Felix asks when he uses an unfamiliar move.

“It’s something I saw Petra do. You should look into Brigid sword forms.”

“And that?”

“Training with Emile had its perks.”

“You cheat.”

“There’s no such thing as cheating in a fight. I learned that from Leonie.”

Despite Felix’s unusual techniques they’re evenly matched, which he’s only a little bit mad about. His time as a mercenary hasn’t given him the advantage he might expect. The other Felix hasn’t slacked on his training.

A few times he’s struck by how familiar it feels fighting himself. Certainly, it’s to be expected to an extent. The foundation of their knowledge is the same. But then so is every kingdom soldier’s, and he doesn’t remember feeling this way fighting them in the war. It’s not until his counterpart dodges him in a way he hasn’t seen since childhood that he realizes who he’s remembering. _Glenn_. He fights like Glenn. Not completely, not totally, but enough that it’s there. Does he fight like Glenn too? He must. How strange.

They fight into the afternoon, until they’re both exhausted from it. They part with a smile, Felix excusing himself to clean up before dinner.

Alone in his borrowed room, he pulls Dimitri’s letter from his pocket.

> _Felix,_
> 
> _I must have written and rewritten this letter a thousand times. My first attempts were angry, for your betrayal has been like none other. I don’t harbor any illusions about your feelings toward me, but I never imagined you would turn your back on Faerghus. And for what, the professor? That woman? No, I think not._
> 
> _I can only imagine you left because of me. When I understood that, my anger faded. What is left is something else._
> 
> _Ingrid thinks I’m mad for writing to you. She believes I write to convince you to return. Rodrigue is hopeful my words will reach you as his could not._
> 
> _I'm not so far gone to think anything I write will make a difference. If I know you as well as I think, you will destroy this letter without reading it. You and I have always been stubborn like that._
> 
> _I’ve never wanted to meet you in battle, but it’s inevitable now. That woman will not cease until one of us is dead. Still, I do not know if I can lift my lance against you. My arm feels heavy thinking about it._
> 
> _Perhaps the worst thing this anger has left behind is the knowledge that if you wanted to return to Faerghus, I would allow it. Each crime you have committed, each betrayal of our people, I would forgive. I should wish to never see you again for what you’ve done._
> 
> _I wish very much to see you again._
> 
> _I wish even more that it won’t be our final meeting._
> 
> _-Dimitri_

Felix sets the letter down. He feels lighter with it missing from his pocket. A strange sense of peace washes over him. His time is almost up.

Felix writes four letters. One for Ingrid, one for Sylvain, one for Dimitri, and one for himself. He puts the one for himself on top, hoping that when the other Felix finds it he accepts his final wish and delivers the rest to their intended recipients.

Then, Felix closes his eyes and fades from existence.

_____

A sea of blue flowers blooms on the Tailtean Plains. A small distance away from where Felix stands, a river flows peacefully, a few blue petals on the surface being carried downstream. Above him, the sun shines brightly.

“Felix.” The voice that greets him belongs to a child.

He looks down and finds a golden haired boy smiling up at him.

“Dimitri. I’m so sorry. I was a fool. I—”

“I know.” Dimitri holds out his small hand for Felix to take.

Felix closes his eyes; when he opens them, he’s at Dimitri’s height. He takes the outstretched hand in front of him; it doesn’t seem small anymore.

“I’ve really missed you,” Felix says, his voice young. Tears spill from his eyes, falling easily.

“Me too. You didn’t need to rush here though.” He sounds sad. “I would have waited for you either way.”

“Shut up.” Felix wipes away his tears. “I got impatient.”

“Fine, fine. Let’s go then.” Dimitri tugs him forward, his grip sure and strong.

“Where are we going?” Felix asks, stumbling after him.

“I don’t know. I’ve been waiting for you. We’ll find out together.”

The sea of blue flowers part for them, providing a path forward. Where it ends isn’t clear.

Together, Felix and Dimitri walk hand and hand and follow it.

**Author's Note:**

> I foolishly thought to myself that I should write 2 felixs, 1 dimitri in contrast to the 2 dimitris, 1 felix I wrote before.
> 
> 12k words later, here I am. crying. 👁👄👁


End file.
